Homesick
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: A series of drabbles about four of LotR favorite ladies: Finduilas, Arwen, Eowyn, and Lothiriel and the one fate they shared: leaving their homes for the men they loved.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Spiritually I own theThe Lord of the Rings, alas, legallyI do not.

**A/N: **A series of drabble like things about fourof our favorite LotR women: Eowyn, Arwen, Lothiriel and Finduilas ( not in that order) and the one thing that hold the four together: the fact they left their homes to be with the men they loved.

**Prologue**

She once believed that if she strained her eyes enough she would see the sea from her white tower.

The gulls do not fly so far out as to reach her, and she must settle from the songbirds her lord gifts her with. But the birds will not sing in the Shadow, and her own heart trembles with fear. Her husband tells her there is naught toworry aboutand tries to calm her but she sees the darkness grow from her window.

She wishes for Dol Amroth, where the waves and gulls sang for her daily and the Darkness was nothing but a line on the horizon. But she is not given leave by her lord to go and so she remains, locked in her marble prison looking for the faintest sign of the sea.

Her sons visit her when they have no lessons and her youngest ask after what she looks for. The sea she tells him, and he cocks his head to the side, young eyes questioning. And she laughs mirthlessly for her son who does not know the sea even as he is taught to fight the Shadow.

She once believed she could see the sea from her high tower, now she knows she will see nothing but the Shadow.


	2. Gardens

**One**

Sometimes, if she thinks hard enough, she can pretend she is in her father's gardens.

She can close her eyes and breath in the scent of the flowers and herbs and just envision her father coming towards her. But the noises of the city are loud and her elven ears hear its roar even as she tries to pretend.

Some day, her love promises, they will journey back to the hidden valleys of her home, and walk the gardens of her kindred again.

But he is too busy still, and there is much that must still be done before the king and his wife can enjoy the peace of the new age together.

There are times when her sadness takes hold of her too strongly and she can do nothing more than watch the West, searching with her far seeing eyes for the home she forsook when she married her king.

Sometimes her lord will join her, hold her hand and look west, for he searches for Imladris as well.


	3. Customs

**Two**

She must put her hair up everyday while in the White City.

In Ithilien her husband does not push the tradition on her, but when they are in Minas Tirith she observes the custom out of respect for him.

Every morning her golden hair is brushed and straighten and pulled until it is tame in the handmaidens quick fingers. Then it is plaited tightly, so tightly that she is certain they will pull the very tresses from her head.

She thinks fondly of her homeland all the while, missing Rohan and her people's own traditions. She thinks of the Golden Hall with its warm wood and the rich colors of the banners of the Riddermark. She thinks of her country, her people, the traditions her mother had taught her so that she might pass them to her own daughter and wonders is her daughter will not think them crude next to the customs of her father's folk.

The handmaidens finish and she is left alone, peering at the face of the familiar stranger that looks back from the looking glass before she rises to start her day in the City of Kings.

At night she returns to their bedchamber before her husband, head throbbing, every strand upon her head begging for release. When her prince finally enters she still removing the carefully placed pins. He moves behind her and completes the task, taking his time as he ensures that every plait is loosened and undone before moving to the next.

She puts her hair up everyday when she is in the White City, every night he lets it down.


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

She misses the sea.

She stands on the stone steps of her still new home and looks out at the lands. The sounds and smells of horses and grass replace the familiar sight and smell of the sea, endless plains of yellow green flood her vision, and her heart cries for the grey blue hues and the sound of waves lapping against the rocks and the smell of salt in the very air around her.

She misses her people, the masses of tall folk with raven hair and eyes that still held a touch of the Eldar.

She is an oddity to her lord's people. Black hair unbound upon her shoulders, as it never was deemed proper in her own Dol Amroth, straighter gowns with higher waists, fuller sleeves, a string of her mother's pearls around her long neck.

Her husband comes up behind her and rests his chin upon her shoulder, his hand coming to rest on her growing stomach. His flaxen hair tickles her cheek and his beard scrapes against the skin of her neck as he kisses her jaw.

She smiles at his attentions. He smiles in return.

She misses the sea; but she is home nonetheless.

**The End**

**A/NII:**Never written anything remotely Eomer and Lothiriel (or Lothiriel for that matter) and I hope this came off alright.

**A/NIII: **I hope this was enjoyed, please leave a review.

Happy Holidays.

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